


i didn't know i was lonely 'til i saw your face

by jflawless



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jflawless/pseuds/jflawless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson notices Mark well before Mark notices Jackson, and once he starts, he can't stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i didn't know i was lonely 'til i saw your face

**Author's Note:**

> my first markson fic!!

It begins, as all great things do, with a bang.

Specifically, the bang of a teenage boy slamming face first into a locker.

Laughter spreads through the hall as a lanky boy turns to the left six feet too early, colliding loudly with metal. Instantly, he stumbles half a foot back, losing his balance and falling on his ass. Jackson can’t help but chuckle along with the rest of the witnesses.  

Before anyone can even think to offer help, the kid scrambles to his feet. Trailing a hand against the wall, he walks successfully, this time, to the end of the hall. The laughter increases, momentarily, as he nearly trips against the corner where the two walls meet, before fading out completely.

x

It’s three days before Jackson sees him again. He has no idea who the clumsy idiot is, the boy had been unrecognizable just from his back.

Jackson doesn’t even know, technically, that the kid he passes in the hallway is the same boy who smashed his face into a locker is the same boy passing him by between sixth and seventh period. It’s a fair assumption, considering the thick purple bruise that catches Jackson’s attention from at least eighteen feet away. The injury spans from the boy’s jaw to his forehead, covering almost the entire left half of his face. The color bleeds across his nose and just barely touches his right cheekbone, but the rest of his skin is smooth and unblemished. 

As the pass each other, Jackson tries to catch his eyes. The boy is staring straight ahead, determined, walking with purpose. His lips move, almost imperceptible, seen by Jackson only because he is staring so intently.

He stops, opens his mouth to speak, rapidly running through every possible conversation starter to find something suitable for this undeniably beautiful boy. He _has_ to be a new student. There’s no way he could’ve gone unnoticed for so long.

The other boy stops as well, just two feet away, and lowers his head so his gaze is at his feet. Jackson is about to do it, about to make a joke about two left feet and maybe ask how bad that bruise hurts, when the other student raises his head once again, mouths something to himself with a pleased smile, and makes a hard right towards the nearest classroom.

And runs directly into the doorway.

He manages to hold his balance, this time, groaning loudly enough for Jackson to hear from where he stands. As he slinks slowly into the room, curving around the jamb to avoid hitting anything else, Jackson can just barely see a bright red flushing his unmarred cheek.

x

“He’s perfect,” Jackson bemoans, head in his arms. His friends go silent, having heard the muffled sound but been unable to understand what he said.

“Who’s what?” Bambam asks from across the lunch table. Jackson lifts his head, lips in a pout.

“Perfect! He’s perfect!” He whines, closing his eyes so the images can replay in his head.

The boy with the bruise may have looked nice before, but three weeks later, his wound almost fully healed, Jackson was truly blown away. He had never seen a prettier human being in his life. There weren’t even words to describe him. He was an angel. A God. Something holy. Mere mortals did not look the way that dumb boy did. 

“Jackson… is there… are you… do you have anything to tell us?” A girl, further down the table, asked, her question choppy as she struggled to stifle her laughter.

“We promise we’ll love you, whatever team you play for,” another voice added, laughter left unmasked as Jackson buried his head in his hands.

“What? Are you trying to say I’m gay?” Jackson replied, incredulous. He was met with seven matching looks of disdain.

“I’m not gay,” he claimed, as though the suggestion was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He repeated it twice, losing confidence each time as his so-called friends continued to silently watch him with clear disbelief.

Sneering at them, he practically threw himself out of his seat to stand, yanking his bag off the ground. With an overly dramatic huff, he began to stomp towards the exit. Waiting for them to laugh, ask him to come back and drop the subject of his sexuality, he stuck his nose up towards the air and crossed his arms over his chest.

While it did get chuckles from all of his table mates, it also left him sightless, leaving him open to crash painfully into another student.

They both hit the ground, Jackson’s eyes flying open as his knees hit the concrete floor. In front of him was, of course, the unfairly beautiful boy who had caused the problem in the first place.

His voice catches in his throat, stopping the apology he tries to stammer out before it can even begin.

A girl runs over to the two boys, yelling ‘Mark’ at an unnecessarily high volume while ‘Mark’, slides his hands across the cafeteria floor, fingers slipping just past his overturned tray of food on every swipe.

Jackson nudges it closer, silently confused, while the girl frets over Mark, touching his face and his hair and his arms, asking if he’s okay and where it hurts. Mark doesn’t thank him for moving the tray closer, just gathers all the spilled food back onto it. He ignores Jackson completely, promising in a soft voice that absolutely doesn’t make Jackson’s chest do strange things, that he is okay.

No one asks Jackson how he’s feeling or if he’s hurt, the throbbing in both his knees and his stinging palms suggesting that he isn’t.

Instead, Mark’s savior calls him an asshole, loudly, and tugs the other boy to his feet. Together, they throw away the ruined lunch and leave Jackson, dumbstruck, kneeling on the ground.

x

“Hey, Mark. Mark!” Jackson jogs down the hall, recognizing the boy he’d knocked down just three days prior as soon as he sees him. He’d been meaning to apologize from the second the incident occurred, but hadn’t yet gotten the chance to do so.

Mark stops but does not turn, leaving his back to Jackson.

“Hey, man,” Jackson skids to a stop at the last second, narrowly avoid a second wreck. His breathing is a little heavy. Whether from the running or his proximity to Mark, he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Hi,” Mark murmurs, spinning slowly until he’s almost facing Jackson directly. They’re only inches apart, now. He rolls his shoulders, toying with the straps of his backpack as he waits uncomfortably for his unknown peer to make his point.

“I’m sorry about the other day. It was an accident, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Jackson is confused as Mark ‘s expression shifts from neutral to horrified and back in the span of a few seconds, but continues, “I can pay you back, if you want.”

“Pay me back for what?”

“The… the lunch? Don’t you remember? You had to throw away your lunch. You didn’t hit your head did you?”

“Oh, are you the one who knocked me down in the cafeteria?”

“Yeah! Do you not recognize me?” An irrational hurt flairs. Here he is, apologizing for an accident to the boy he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about for two months, so completely on his radar that Jackson would probably be able to pick him out, blindfolded, in a crowd of hundreds, and the kid doesn’t even remember a face he should have seen no more than eighty hours earlier.

Mark gasps, audibly, and his mouth hangs open as he gazes at Jackson’s shoulder.

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes!”

A snicker starts to bubble from Mark, slowly at first, growing until he’s laughing openly, mouth wide and head thrown back.  

“You really didn’t know?” Mark asks, once he’s calmed down. He may have stopped laughing, but his mouth remains in a soft smile that’s casually crushing Jackson.  No one person should be this _attractive_. It’s not fair to the rest of them.

“Didn’t know what?”

Mark laughs again, _giggles_ even, and drops the bomb.

“I’m blind.”

Suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense and Jackson has never been so incredibly embarrassed in his life.

Mark tells him he doesn’t have to worry about the lunch cost, the laugh was more than enough to cover damages, and turns a deliberate three steps. He counts out the nine steps he had left in his routine before Jackson interrupted, turns right, and takes four slow, cautious steps until he’s passed through the doorway.

x

Jackson drops his tray heavily onto the table, the clatter of plastic against wood making Mark jump. He barely catches himself from falling out of his seat, and scowls at whichever douchebag though it would be funny to scare him this week.

“That joke’s getting old,” he mumbles, poking at the pile of mushy vegetables on his plate.

“What joke?” Jackson questions, only half paying attention as he turns to wave off his friends who are chattering obnoxiously loudly about what he must be doing with the ‘prettiest boy in the universe’.

Mark can definitely hear them, if Jackson can, but at least he doesn’t know that Jackson is the one who gave him the nickname. In his defense, the first time he said it had been less in admiration and more in annoyance, but they had latched on to it and refused to let it go.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Just me,” he replied, dryly, refraining from adding a ‘sorry to disappoint’. He perks up for a second, a question sliding right past his filter, “Hey, how’d you know?”

“Not that many people talk to me. It’s not hard to figure out,” Mark’s grin, suggesting he’s not at all bothered by the situation, does nothing to stop the painful rush of sympathy and guilt that puddle deep in Jackson’s stomach.

“Well, today is your lucky day, then,” he decides, knocking his foot against Mark’s ankle under the table, “You’re stuck with me, now. You get to listen to me _forever_.”

Mark sighs gravely, as if he can think of no worse fate, but the smile remains, making Jackson’s chest feel tight and warm for the entire lunch period.

x

Jackson isn’t lying.

Jackson pushes himself into Mark’s life and worms his way into Mark’s heart on an otherwise average Tuesday afternoon and refuses to leave.

Mark finds, quickly, that he doesn’t really want him to.

x

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Nothing. Everything. I keep forgetting you’re blind. I’m probably really insensitive. That was probably insensitive.”

“I don’t mind. I like it.”

“Really?”

“It’s refreshing. You don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”

x

“You’re an idiot,” Mark recognizes the rough hands gripping his upper arms a split second before he knows the voice.

“I actually can’t see and you’re calling me an idiot for tripping,” he’s on his feet again in an instant. The warmth of Jackson’s hands disappears from his biceps and moments later returns, pushing his arms around.

He lets it happen, and soon, the heavy weight of his backpack settles on his shoulders, and his phone is being pressed into his hand. Jackson’s fingers curl around his, folding them over the newly cracked screen.

“You are an idiot for not being careful,” Jackson reprimands, grabbing at his shoulders and manhandling him into walking a few feet to the left. His body is turned ninety degrees, and then he hears Jackson take a step back, “Don’t mess up your count next time.”

Mark hears footsteps pass around him, until Jackson is in front of him. They stand in silence until the bell rings, and Mark wishes desperately for the first time in a long time that he could see, just to know what kind of expression Jackson is watching him with.

As the ringing dies out, Mark feels something flick against his left cheek, hard enough to be noticeable but not enough to hurt.

“Don’t get yourself killed, please. Thirteen steps forward, five left.”

Mark gulps down the rush of emotions that almost make him say something he’ll regret. He waits until he hears Jackson thundering down the nearby staircase before taking a tentative thirteen steps forward. He turns, counting to himself the five steps that sound put him in the classroom. Just as he mouths the final number, his teacher calls to him, asking why he’s late and if he needs help to his seat.

x

Mark is sitting with his sister again, the one that doesn’t like Jackson, so he’s been banished back to his original table.  Despite their friendship, constantly getting closer, she refuses to forget about that one time that he _accidentally_ knocked Mark over and somehow did not realize that Mark was blind.

Behind them, he can hear Jackson's friends. As usual, the argument focuses mostly on the question of Jackson’s true sexuality which isn’t really a question, because if Jackson says he’s not gay, then he’s not, and they have no choice but to take his word for it.

His sister gets up for the bathroom, leaving him with the simple instructions to not let anyone, especially Wang, take her seat. Mark laughs and tries to zone out, tries to ignore the voices floating over from the table just ten feet behind him. He fails so spectacularly he ends up focuses solely on understanding exactly what’s being said.

“Honestly, Jackson, you don’t have to lie to us. We literally saw you holding hands with him. You can have a boyfriend if you want,” a female voice carries over easily, almost as if it’s on purpose. Jackson is far less clear, but still audible, even in the crowded lunch room.

Mark is so aware of Jackson, he thinks he’d probably be able to hear him whisper from the other side of the world.

“Why does that make us boyfriends? He’s _blind!_ It doesn’t mean anything!”

Mark, of course, has known all along. He knew from the start exactly what Jackson was doing there, doing with him. He knew why Jackson was sitting across from _him_ at lunch every day when he had a table full of people to entertain him no more than three strides away.

Mark would have to truly be an idiot to not understand, to not know that he was nothing more than charity. He knew his mistake the moment he made it. The joke, what was meant to be a joke, just a small dig at Jackson, turned too honest. Jackson was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. His sympathy, the moment Mark was the comment, was palpable. There was no doubt.

Jackson didn’t really care about Mark. Jackson might not even like him.

It hurt, it stung, Mark couldn’t deny that, but he ignored the jolt on pain. Maybe Jackson just felt bad for him, but, Mark would take what he could get. Mark would take Jackson however he could have him.

Even if it was all fake, in the end.

x

Mark is stretched out, feet in Jackson’s lap where he’s sitting against the wall at the foot on the bed.

They had been talking for a few hours, about this and that and everything, a usual Friday night for the two boys.

Mark’s oldest sister, who adores Jackson,  maybe even more than Mark, burst in to pester the two of them about something dumb.

What movie to watch, or snacks, or something, Mark wasn’t really listening. Something else was on his mind.

“Hey, is Jackson cute?” He interrupted, both his sister and his friend ending their conversation abruptly to listen to him.

“What?”

“Jackson. Is he cute?”

Jackson scoffs like the question is ridiculous, and Mark’s sister hums thoughtfully.

“You could do better,” she decides, laughing as Jackson shouts at her. There’s a slamming door and a soft thump, his sister making it out in time to avoid behind hit by the pillow Jackson threw, and the room falls silent.

“I’m totally cute,” Jackson mutters, eventually, aiming a light punch at Mark’s shin, “I can’t believe you don’t think I’m cute. I’m _so_ cute. Cuter than you, even!”

Mark is so quietly pleased that Jackson has technically called him cute, he forgets to tease him about being insensitive about the ‘eye issue’.

“Are you really?”

“Yes!” Jackson sounds unsure this time around, the strong self confidence waning, as it usually does, in the face of questioning.

“Let me see.”

“You can’t do that.”

Mark huffs, almost laughing, and pulls himself into a sitting position. He crawls forward slowly, stopping when his fingers hit jean. 

Sliding his hand up, he rests it on Jackson’s thigh, sliding closer until his knees are touching Jackson too.

“Like this,” he explains, voice soft to hide his nervous. He picks his hand up off Jackson’s thigh, instead of sliding it up, and finds Jackson’s shoulder.

From there, it slides up the side of his neck to cup his jar. For a better vantage point, he swings his left leg over, body hovering barely an inch above Jackson’s legs.

Jackson doesn’t stop him, doesn’t dare speak, so Mark continues. Both hands rest on Jackson’s cheeks, the tips of his fingers stroking carefully across his cheekbones.

He runs his thumbs down to pass over Jackson’s lips. They linger there far longer than they should, tracing an outline of his mouth once, twice, three times.

Mark lets his palms slip, pulling away from the warm skin so he can run his index fingers from Jackson’s ears down his jaw line. When they meet at his chin, he lets one hand drop into his lap, using the other to feel the shape of Jackson’s nose.

He drags a finger from between his eyes down to the tip of his nose. With a little grin, he taps once with a quiet “boop”.

Jackson laughs, thankfully, his first react to anything that Mark has done.

Mark continues, comfort renewed by the sound, and gently brushes his fingers over Jackson’s eyes, mapping out his features. He presses his palm to the other boy’s forehead, like checking for a fever, and then shifts it up.  Pushing the hat from Jackson’s head, he tangles his fingers in him shaggy hair.

It’s a little too much for Mark, he’s too close, he’s about to say something so incredibly dumb Jackson will really leave.

Biting hard on his lip, fingers still curled in Jackson’s hair, he lets his head fall forward until it hits shoulder.

“Yeah,” he rasps, throat suddenly dry, “very cute.”

Mark can feel Jackson gulp, the two of them so, _so_ close.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson’s voice shakes. Mark can feel trembling against his forehead, “You too.”

Snorting, Mark drops his hand back to his side and all but throws himself away from Jackson, landing back in his original position, lying down. He throws an arm over his face to hide his blush.

The bed shifts, dipping for a moment as Jackson’s weight moves. The springs creak as he stands, and Mark isn’t surprised when he stammers out an excuse about dinner with his parents and a half-hearted goodbye.

x

Jackson doesn’t hear from Mark all weekend.

To be fair, he doesn’t contact him either. He’s sure that Mark knows he ran out on purpose, but there was no way he could stay in that room without ruining the best friendship he’d ever had.

Between the realization that the funny feeling in his chest was, in fact, _love_ , and the painful boner he was lucky Mark didn’t notice, he needed some time to sort himself out.

It was kind of inevitable. Mark was easily the most attractive person he knew, objectively, and anyone would be an idiot not to notice. He’d know that Mark was hot well before he knew that he was also kind of hilarious and unnaturally kind and so fucking _strong_.

It was impossible not to fall in love with him. Anyone would.

x

Mark knows he took it too far.

He knew Jackson wasn’t really in it, that he was only pretending to be his friend because he was a nice guy with a big heart buried under his swagger.

Mark knows he should’ve kept it to himself, for the sake of maintaining one of the best friendships he’d ever had.

He should have, but he didn’t.

x

Jackson drops rambunctiously into the seat across from him, same as every other day, same as _that_ day, months ago.

He starts rambling as soon as he gets to the table,  about his day, about the weekend, another excuse for leaving, and Mark doesn’t want to do it anymore.

It isn’t enough anymore.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“-and she was like, ‘No you’… hmm? Do what? Talk? I told you –“

“You don’t need to sit here, and talk to me, you’re wasting our time. Go back to your friends.”

For a moment, it feels like everything stops. His heart, his lungs, his brain. All of it freezes. Jackson can’t believe what he’s hearing. He didn’t realize his stupid heart boner would ruin things so quickly.

“You… don’t… want to hang out anymore?”

“I’m not that lonely. I don’t need you.”

“You. Don’t need me,” Jackson repeats the words, like maybe they’ll stop being true, like maybe they’ll lose all meaning if he just says them enough, and Mark won’t be able to kick him out so easily.

“No.”

Jackson falls silent, waiting for the punch line, waiting for the take back, waiting for _anything_ that isn’t going to break his heart.

It never comes.

x

Mark had overestimated himself and underestimated the impact Jackson had.

He’d taken for granted all the time they spent, the spaces that Jackson had filled.

He’d forgotten the silence.

He’s forgotten the afternoons where he would arrive home and choke out a hello, voice raw from going full school days without speaking once.

He hadn’t expected Jackson to ruin his count. He hadn’t expected for thoughts of Jackson to cut through the numbers he needed to get around on his own.

Anytime it happened before, Jackson was there to reset him, to put him back on track.

He should’ve just sucked it up. He didn’t remember it being this lonely before.

It wasn’t the same being alone after you knew what you were missing.

x

Jackson had never considered what he would do when Mark was gone.

Jackson had never considered a time where Mark would be gone.

He spent hours trying to understand where everything went wrong, trying to comprehend the one eighty that Mark pulled on him.

They were _best friends_ and he was dropped like it was nothing.

Mark didn’t even look like he cared. He just continued on, the same way he had before Jackson befriended him, as though nothing had ever happened.

x

This _sucks_.

x

 _Fuck_ this.

x

“No.”

“No?”

“No!” Jackson dropped into the seat, pulling Mark’s lunch tray across the table so there was no reason to ignore him.

“No, _what?_ ”

“I told you! You’re stuck with me forever! You don’t get to kick me to the curb,” Jackson was pouting, unashamedly, ready to do whatever it took to win his way back into Mark’s life.

“Kick you to the curb? You don’t even like me!”

And if that wasn’t the single most ridiculous thing Jackson had ever heard in his entire life.

“Don’t _like you?_ I like you! I like you _too much_. That’s why you stopped being friends with me, right?”

“I didn’t want to force you to be friends with me,” Mark explains, feeling for the first time that he might have gotten something very, _very_ wrong.

“Force me? What does that even mean? I asked you to be friends with me! I forced you!”

“I thought you felt bad for me,” Mark admits softly, absolutely sure that he got something wrong.

“What? Are you fucking _kidding?_ I thought you stopped being friends with me because you felt my boner!”

“What? _When?_ ”

“When you climbed in my lap and touched my face and told me I was cute and honestly, do you really not understand that you are _so hot_. I’m not even gay and you’re so ridiculously hot, and I kind of want to be with you forever, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees, a little blown away, beaming at Jackson through his confusion, “Yeah, that’s okay. That’s good.”

“Good.”

Simultaneously, both boys become shy, neither sure what more to say. Jackson watches Mark try, and fail, to reel in his huge grin.

The bell rings, interrupting Jackson before he can begin. Mark starts to stand as the cafeteria explodes with noise. Yelling, chairs scraping, plastic trays banging together.

Jackson grabs his wrist, holding him in place until the room all but empties, leaving only them, a few straggling students and a group of staff.

“I’m gonna warn you, before you get to class, you look like an idiot.”

He watches Mark struggle to frown, trying desperately to force the smile into something more like a scowl and continuing to fail.

“It’s alright, though,” Jackson starts, well aware that his expression matches Mark’s, who doesn’t have the means to tease him about it, “I look exactly the same.”

x

At the end of the day, Mark sits in his last class, waiting.

The teacher asks if he needs help but he declines, explaining quickly that he’s just waiting for a friend.

Jackson sweeps into the room, seven minutes after the final bell has ring and the halls have cleared.

“You ready to go?” Mark stands in lieu of answering, carefully maneuvering around desks until he feels Jackson’s light touch against the small of his back. He allows himself to be lead through the door, until they’re in the silent hallway. Jackson steps away and they walk, comfortably quiet, towards the doors.

Mark makes it eight steps when Jackson suddenly grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging him no more than three inches to the side.

“You were about to run into something.”

“Sure.”

Jackson doesn’t let go.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
